There was a fire at the Columbia House on 96th and Broadway, last night. It was not a big fire and it was not in the building. Some wood planks on top of scaffolding that is there for the workers who repair the façade of the house caught fire. There were two medium sized flames and four fire-trucks and the jeep of a fire chief and an ambulance, which is there quite often. And there were hundreds of spectators. I was on the phone with my . He was telling me about New York. He always tells me about New York when he hears the sirens of the fire-trucks. Two nights ago he called me back to let me hear the roosters that woke up the neighborhood where my parents live. In Hanau, in Germany. It is sometimes not very easy to listen to all the stories and all the things that happen in Hanau, all the time. There is this new car they got. It is an instant hit with the entire neighborhood. It is not quite easy sometimes, but then, when I think about it. He never had the chance to speak to his dad. They never met. My ’s was these two photographs we had of him. So maybe it is all not so bad. It is better this way. I let him tell me all about it. I actually think I will call my parents right after I post this.
Oh, the fire? It was out in a minute or so. No big deal. There are some burned boards on the spot where the big event happened yesterday. And the workers are back at work, cleaning the façade, and the traffic is normal and steady. And when I look out of the window there are about 30 people I can see at one time now. Each one of them with their own parents. Some closer, some , in time, space and life.